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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25011508">my heart in your hands</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/squadrickchestopher/pseuds/squadrickchestopher'>squadrickchestopher</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Arc Reactor Failure, M/M, Panic Attacks, Pre-Slash, Protective Steve Rogers, Tony Stark Has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Tony Stark Needs a Hug</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 02:21:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,415</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25011508</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/squadrickchestopher/pseuds/squadrickchestopher</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Keep the porch light on</em>, he tells himself, looking down at his chest. <em>Like a candle burning in the fucking window.</em> He wheezes out a laugh. <em>Except this is not a safe place, and you are dying.</em></p>
<p>The thought forces him into action. He makes his numb fingers pry off his gloves, and probes at the damage. The casing is definitely broken. He flicks away the pieces with bloody fingers and carefully eases the reactor out. Not enough to pull the magnet, just enough to see the damage.</p>
<p>It’s cracked. It’s cracked, and it’s flickering, and Tony has to make himself keep breathing when he sees it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Steve Rogers/Tony Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>308</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>my heart in your hands</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Based on a <a href="https://merchantsofdeath.tumblr.com/post/622385310355095553/there-is-a-criminal-lack-of-fanfics-where-the">tumblr post</a> by <a href="https://merchantsofdeath.tumblr.com/">merchantsofdeath</a>.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Pain.</p>
<p></p><div class="">
<p></p><div class=""><p>That’s the first thing Tony registers. It’s not the dull ache he’s grown used to, the deep-seated discomfort of having an arc reactor shoved into his chest cavity. No, this is worse.</p></div><div class=""><p>Much worse.</p></div><div class=""><p>He gasps for air, eyes flying open. “What---”</p></div><div class=""><p>“Tony!”</p></div><div class=""><p>Tony gags, feeling a swell of nausea rise in him. Someone rolls him onto his side, concerned voice and other noises all blending together, and he can’t stop himself from hurling his guts out onto the concrete floor. It strains his chest, makes his eyes feel like they’re going to pop from the pressure. In the distance, someone screams, and it’s not until someone calls his name that he realizes it’s him.</p></div><div class=""><p>“Tony!”</p></div><div class=""><p>“Steve,” Tony gasps, hands clutching at him. Red hands, gold hands, <em>still in the suit, why am I in the suit, what happened, where are we? </em></p></div><div class=""><p>“There was an explosion,” Steve says, his voice worried, and Tony realizes he said all that out loud. “The wall---they wired the other side---it hit you.”</p></div><div class=""><p><em>That sounds right</em>, Tony thinks. Would explain the pain, too, and the nausea. He drags in a breath and starts to sit up. <em>Explosion. Danger. Gotta get moving.</em></p></div><div class=""><p>“No,” Steve says, pushing him back down. “No. Stay.”</p></div><div class=""><p>“But we---”</p></div><div class=""><p>“Stop it. You <em>need</em> to stay down.” Those blue eyes are fixated on him, so full of worry and terror, and something else that Tony can’t pinpoint right now. “There was a chunk of concrete that hit your chest. Your---” He swallows hard. “Your reactor is blinking. Like it’s broken.”</p></div></div><div class="">
  <p>Reactor. Broken. Two words that Tony never, <em>ever</em> wants to hear in the same sentence. “Fuck. Okay. Fuck.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I can help,” Steve says, and the absurdity of that statement makes Tony bark out a painful laugh.  Steve can barely work a cell phone. Tony’s had to walk him through the coffee maker at least three times. “Just tell me what you need.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Gotta sit up,” Tony says, grasping at him. “Gotta get---see it, I need to see it.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Steve nods, short and sharp, and easily maneuvers Tony into a sitting position against the wall. It <em>hurts</em>, kicking the nausea back into full force. A deep, all-encompassing pain in his chest, radiating outwards like the aftermath of an explosion. But he doesn’t want Steve to stop, so Tony just grits his teeth and takes it. <em>Stark men are made of iron, and iron does not feel pain.</em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>God, he wishes that was true.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“JARVIS,” he says, and his HUD crackles to life. “Hey, buddy. Damage report.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Your a-armor has sustained s-s-s-seventy percentage-age-age dam---” There’s a fizz, and whir of electronics, and then the display goes blank.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Tony whacks the side of his helmet, which does fuck-all. “JARVIS! JARVIS!”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Nothing.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Fuck,” Tony wheezes, and reaches up to pop the helmet off. “JARVIS is dead.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Steve winces. “Okay. Okay. We can make this work.” His hands hover over Tony, like he’s desperate to touch but afraid to cause more pain. “Tell me how to help.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Tony takes stock of their surroundings. “Where are we?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I don’t know. The explosions---they were rigged up down the hallway. When the first one went off, you were closest. It hit you in the chest and you went down.” Steve sounds like he’s going to be sick. “So I grabbed you, and we all started running. I think we’re in a garage? There’s a car under the wreckage over there.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Cars. Cars are good. Cars mean electronics, and things Tony can play with. “Where are the others?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Hawkeye and Widow were on the other side when the ceiling fell and cut us off. I tried to contact them but comms are down. Thor and Hulk...” He shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You’re bleeding,” Tony says, noticing the sheen of blood dripping down the right side of his face.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I’ll be fine.” He gently probes at the broken armor around Tony’s chest. “You gotta keep this lit up, right? It’s bad if it goes dark?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p><em>Like explaining nuclear physics to a five year old,</em> Tony thinks wildly. “Yeah. Gotta keep it on.” He coughs wetly, turning his head to the side to spit up blood. “Shit.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Internal bleeding,” Steve says unhelpfully. “Sit tight, I’m gonna see if I can shift some rubble and get us out---”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Just do it,” Tony interrupts, wincing at another wave of pain. “I don’t need a play-by-play.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Something tightens in Steve’s face, and he nods. He disappears, and Tony can hear the shifting of rubble.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p><em>Keep the porch light on</em>, he tells himself, looking down at his chest. <em>Like a candle burning in the fucking window.</em> He wheezes out a laugh. <em>Except this is not a safe place, and you are dying. </em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The thought forces him into action. He makes his numb fingers pry off his gloves, and probes at the damage. The casing is definitely broken. He flicks away the pieces with bloody fingers and carefully eases the reactor out. Not enough to pull the magnet, just enough to see the damage.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It’s cracked. It’s cracked, and it’s flickering, and Tony has to make himself keep breathing when he sees it.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>To the side, there’s a rumbling of rubble, and then Steve lets out the loudest, longest stream of curses that Tony’s ever heard from him. It’s enough to shock him out of the panic of the moment, and he turns to look. “Language,” he says, amusement bubbling up along with the blood.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Shut up,” Steve says, stepping away from the rubble. He looks up at the cracked ceiling with worry, noting the way the florescent lights are flickering and swaying. “I don’t think I can, Tony. This is too unstable. I could get us out, but I could also kill us.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Already dying,” Tony says. He means it to be flippant, but it doesn’t really come out that way.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You’re not gonna die,” Steve says. Orders, really, and isn’t that just like Captain America, trying to order death around.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He comes back and kneels by Tony, staring at the cracked reactor with wide eyes. “That’s bad, right?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Tony snorts out a laugh, even though it hurts. “Yeah,” he says. “That’s bad.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You’re not gonna die,” Steve orders again. “You’re <em>not</em>. Tell me how to help.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Tony swallows blood, the copper taste in his mouth making him gag. “Okay,” he says. “You said there was a car?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yeah, over there.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Get the battery. You know what that---”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I know what a battery looks like,” Steve says, a slight smile cracking the mask of worry. “We had cars in the 40s, you know.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Tony shrugs, then winces as it tugs at his chest. “Good. Get it.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Steve vanishes off to the rubble, and Tony tries to collect himself. He can feel the edges of a panic attack tugging at him, can feel the terror coiling underneath his broken chest. <em>It’s not the cave</em>, he tells himself. <em>It’s not the cave, it’s not the cave, and you’re not going to die here. Steve said so. </em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>A few minutes later, Steve comes back with the car battery. He also brings wires, and a little toolbox, and a couple other things that are actually useful. “I thought these might help,” he says, sounding unsure. “I don’t...this isn’t my area of expertise.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Tony clumsily pats his arm. “Helps,” he says, and sits up a little more. “Okay. Wire cutters.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Steve hands them over. Tony takes them. Feels the weight of the metal in his hand. He positions it just under the reactor, trying to give himself enough wire to work with.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Okay,” he says again, and starts to cut.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Or rather, tries to cut. His hand won’t move. It’s frozen in midair, cutters poised, trembling minutely.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Tony stares at it. His vision blurs for a moment, blending past and present, and suddenly he’s in another concrete hell, cold and terrified and screaming as hands cut into his chest, reach in where they’re not supposed to be, pull at his heart and attach him to---</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Tony,” Steve says softly, and Tony yanks himself back to reality, suddenly realizing how hard he’s shaking. “Do you need help?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I can fix it,” Tony whispers. He looks up, meets those blue eyes. “I can fix it,” he insists, and he’s not sure if he means the arc reactor or himself.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Steve’s hand settles over his, firm and steady. “Yes,” he says. “You can.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Tony shudders under his touch. “I can fix it,” he says again, almost inaudible, and he <em>makes</em> his hand move. Makes the wire cutters close.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Time seems to skip, after that. Tony sets the damaged reactor aside, and reaches for the car battery. Strips the wires. Attaches them to the electromagnet. Lets his fingers work in tandem with his mind, not so much planning his actions as just letting them flow naturally.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He does not think about the cave. He can’t. If he thinks about it, he will lose himself to the nightmare, and he needs to be present. He <em>has</em> to fix this. This is who he is. This is what he was born to do.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Okay,” he finally says, dropping the tools onto his lap. They clatter against his suit. “There. That should---that should do it.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“It’s okay?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Temporarily.” Tony takes a shuddering breath, trying to pretend he can’t feel the shrapnel piercing his heart. “I need to get to my lab. Somewhere clean. Then I can do the rest.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p><em>Then I can make it better</em>, he adds for himself. <em>Make it so it will never break again. This shouldn’t have happened. You should have been better than this. </em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Hey,” Steve says, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Tony.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Tony can’t quite meet his eyes. He feels split open. Literally, in this case, but also mentally. Steve just saw all of that. Steve saw <em>him</em>. Not the persona he puts up on a daily basis. Not the armor he’s learned to hide behind. Steve saw the real Tony Stark, the hidden depths of terror and trauma, and Tony doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to look at him again.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Steve apparently thinks otherwise. He puts two fingers under Tony’s chin, gently pushing upwards until Tony finally flicks his gaze up. “You did good,” Steve says softly. “We’ll get out of here, I promise.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Tony nods brokenly, swallows down another mouthful of blood. “Okay.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You’re amazing,” Steve tells him. “Look at what you had to work with.” He smiles shakily. “All you’ve got are lousy tools and a useless super-soldier, and you just performed heart surgery on yourself.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You’re not useless,” Tony says, stung by that for some reason. “You’re---you’re here. That helps.” He makes a limp gesture. “You carried me in here. I’d be a pancake on the floor if you didn’t.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I would never have left you out there,” Steve says, and there’s---</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>There’s something <em>else</em> in his voice, beyond just the usual Captain America <em>leave no man behind</em> thing that he usually does. And his hand is still on Tony’s face, gently cupping his chin, thumbing over a bruise.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Tony’s vision blurs, and for a moment he thinks it’s another memory, or a panic attack. But it’s just tears, stinging their way down his scraped face. “I know you wouldn’t,” he says, and takes a shuddering breath. “I know.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>There’s a moment between them, something unreadable in the air. It’s broken almost immediately by a loud <em>crack</em> that shakes the room around them, and a familiar yell of, “HULK SMASH!”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Tony snorts out a laugh even as Steve looks up with concern at the splintering ceiling. “Green Giant to the rescue,” he says, and Steve smiles. Tony reaches out and tugs the car battery closer, pushing back distant memories of carrying another one around in his arms.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Miraculously, the ceiling does not fall on them. Hulk manages to blast through the outer wall, letting in a stream of fresh air and sunlight. Steve shields Tony from the explosion of concrete, protectively hunched over both him and the battery.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Hey guys,” Clint says, stepping through. He takes stock of the situation in that quick way of his, and nods once. “Nat, we need a medical extraction.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Good to see you, Katniss,” Tony says.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You too, Iron Giant.” Clint looks at Steve. “Cap, you good?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I’m fine,” Steve says, except Tony can see how pale he is now, with sunlight lighting him up instead of flickering fluorescent. “Everyone else?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Alive and accounted for. Widow’s got a broken arm.” Tony can see the tight worry in Clint’s eyes. “I dropped my packet of Oreos somewhere, but other than that, no further casualties.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Steve shakes his head. “Your sacrifice is appreciated,” he says dryly, and turns back to Tony. “Ready to get out of here?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“God, yes,” Tony says.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Steve reaches for the car battery, and Tony flinches hard. His hand comes up on its own, knocking Steve’s away with a force he didn’t know he had. “Sorry,” he says. “I just---I’m sorry.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“It’s okay,” Steve says easily. “You can hold it. I’m just gonna carry you out, okay? I don’t want you walking.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I just don’t want people touching it,” Tony says, trying to explain and not explain at the same time. “It’s not you, it’s...”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“It’s <em>okay</em>, Tony. You don’t have to say it.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Yes, he does. He doesn’t know why, but he does.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“It’s my heart,” Tony says, touching the car battery, and swallows hard. “I have to keep it safe.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Hey,” Steve says softly, curling his fingers over Tony’s. “I understand. I got you.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Something shifts in the air between them again. Something almost tangible. Tony stares at their fingers, tangled together on top of the battery.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>I got you.</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Tony swallows again. “Okay,” he says softly, and he means it past this moment, past the car battery, past their little room of shattered concrete and sharp memories. “Okay. It’s yours. I’m yours.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Steve gently scoops him up like Tony weighs nothing, arranging the battery so Tony’s got both arms wrapped around it. “I got you,” he says again, pressing a kiss to Tony’s sweaty forehead, soft and sweet.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I know you do,” Tony whispers. He’s so tired, and he’s still scared, and still worried. But his heart is safe in his arms, and he’s safe in Steve’s, and he thinks that maybe---just maybe---things will work out alright this time.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Let’s go,” Clint says, and Steve carries Tony out into the sunlight.</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm on <a href="https://feedmecookiesnow.tumblr.com/">tumblr!</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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